Inviting Trouble
by Severe Cabbage
Summary: UPDATED AT LAST At twenty-one, Near is a detective working out of a glorified closet in a decrepit London apartment. His dull existence is interrupted quite rudely by an old rival, a new case, and a thoroughly unwelcome romance. Near/Mello, L/Light, AU.
1. introductions and reunions

**Hey! For those of you not previously acquainted with my august personage, I am Severe Cabbage, the (relatively) acclaimed author of that ridiculous fluffy fic, "It's a Wonderful Life." For those of you that do know me, this is my next big project. I hope for this fic to be pretty long, and it's going to have a slightly more serious tone than any of my previous stuff. However, I think it's going to be pretty damn fun nonetheless. **

**I present to you the first chapter of "Inviting Trouble," in which you will learn some backstory and be exposed to cereal you didn't know you wanted. Enjoy!**

**Oh, and don't forget to REVIEW. I love them very much, and I really want to know if you all think that this is a good start, or if I should just rewrite the hell outta this. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, but I do own these lobster-patterned socks.**

**XXXXXXX**

"Number twenty-seven?"

Near looked up as a cup of hot tea was placed onto the counter across the room. Detaching himself from the queue of customers huddling near the register, he carefully navigated through the overcrowded café. Eyes trained upon the floor, he did not bother to acknowledge the stares and suspicious whispers that floated towards his sensitive ears.

At twenty-one, Near looked as though he could easily pass for sixteen. Always shorter than average throughout his youth, he was still dimunitive, at an unimpressive five feet, two inches. His face had lost some of the roundness of his teenage years, but its features would always remain soft and rounded. Far too skinny for someone of his age, he concealed his bony frame with the same baggy white clothing he had worn customarily for years.

Today, this traditional ensemble was accompanied by a white canvas jacket and a pair of worn but still-white sneakers, dangling precariously from small feet. The sneakers were necessary for public outings, and the chilly autumn weather was responsible for the jacket. However, Near's clothing was still far too thin for such a day, and his ears and nose had reddened slightly from the cold.

Much to the irritation of the busy customers in the café, Near's slow path across the room was halted when a trailing lace from his left shoe freed itself. Crouching down carefully, the young man looped the threadbare lace and pulled, straightening the ends of the bow until they hung evenly down the sides of the shoe.

This task accomplished, he stood and finally completed the journey to the counter. Displaying his numbered receipt to the server, he picked up the foam container of tea with careful hands.

"Do you have milk?" he asked quietly, shifting his fingers in sudden pain as the warmth from the cup awakened chilled nerve endings.

A lazily pointing finger was his response, and he looked in the indicated direction. A small table littered with sweeteners and small containers of cream stood against the wall. Not bothering to thank the server, he crept over to the little condiment station and pried the lid off of the tea with neatly-trimmed fingernails. His other hand delicately rifled through the tiny containers of creamer and half-and-half, finally resting upon a seemingly random choice.

This moment of mindless but comforting banality was interrupted by a harsh, low voice.

"Near!" It was not a happy exclamation. Those who recongnized the reclusive young boy were rarely delighted at the chance encounter.

Turning, Near regarded the newcomer with the same dull gaze he had given the low-fat creamer.

"Good afternoon, Mello."

"Why the hell are you here?" Mello demanded bluntly, burying clenched fists in the pockets of his gleaming leather jacket. From behind a curtain of smooth blond hair, hateful green eyes stared at Near with a look that seemd perfectly capable of frying the other where he stood.

"Is there a reason that I should _not _be here?" Near inquired, the curiousity in his words not matching the monotone of his voice. Raising the styromfoam cup of tea to pale lips, he sipped gently at the steaming liquid and swallowed audibly. A grimace passed across the thin face, and another little pot of creamer was added to the brew.

Mello watched these small motions with poorly-concealed anger. Meeting Near's eyes again, he said lowly, "You're supposed to be living in New York City."

"Indeed. Have you been checking up on me, Mello?" Near asked innocently. Mello scowled.

"I hear things from the other Wammy kids. Don't flatter yourself," he said shortly. "Anyway, how did you end up in London?"

"Business," Near stated simply. "And you, of course, have been residing here for six years, correct?"

"Yes," the blonde supplied, a dangerous look still in his eyes. "What's your _business, _then, Near?"

The shorter man appeared to consider this for one long moment. "Accounting," he contributed finally, the small smirk on his face showing that he didn't expect Mello to believe this for one moment. "And yourself?"

"I'm sure you know," Mello stated, smiling humorlessly. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to leave."

"Of course," Near said, dark blue eyes still trained on Mello. "However…"

"What?"

Near tilted his head a bit, studying the tall blonde with a disconcertingly intent look. "I hope to see you again while I am here, Mello. I do not encounter many Wammy children these days."

Mello snorted. "Bullshit. Look, I'm leaving, alright? Can't say it was nice to see you again, but if you come here again I probably will anyway. If you're going to talk to me, you better be damn well ready to buy me a drink." Quick fingers zipped up the leather jacket. "Now, goodbye."

"Goodbye, Mello." As the older man's darkly gleaming back receded from view, Near took a pensive sip of tea, and followed the blonde out of the café.

XXXXXXX

Keys rattled as Near twisted them in the old bronze lock affixed to the doorknob. That obstacle passed, he then proceeded to open the _other _six locks.

In the opinion of the apartment's occupants, there was never such a thing as too much paranoia.

As soon as he passed through the threshold of the apartment, Near shed his shoes and jacket, folding the latter item and placing it carefully on top of the rickety hall table. He paused in the hall for a moment, listening carefully to the apparent silence that filled the four rooms.

Eventually, a clicking sound threaded its way out of the low beeps and crashes that signified a London afternoon. It was unmistakably the sound of a keyboard.

Satisfied, Near walked into what was, according to the landlord, a combination kitchen and dining room. This was apparently real estate-speak for "a table in the middle of the kitchen."

"Hello, L," Near said, nodding at the room's other occupant.

"Near." A pair of eyes rose above the edge of a sleek silver laptop, gazing at the younger man imploringly. "My cookies? The chocolate ones?"

"Right here," Near assured the man, holding out the packet of generic café cookies he had purchased on his excursion.

L's spidery body unfolded as he clambered down from his perch on the table to seize the cheap dessert. "Thank you, Near," he muttered through a delicate mouthful of cookie. "My supplies were at a dangerous low, as I am sure you observed."

Near nodded in a rather ambiguous fashion, and walked over to the three cupboards that housed most of the pair's sustenance. Opening the creaking cabinet in the center, he drew out a box of unflavored cereal and a white china bowl. These were set upon the chipped countertop while the young man opened the nearby fridge. After a brief period of rummaging (during which one donut, three half-consumed smoothies, and a melting pint of dulce de leche ice cream were dislodged from their resting places) a carton of skim milk was set next to the cereal.

With his customary robotic precision, Near made—nay, _assembled_—a bowl of cereal and placed the milk back in the fridge.

The bowl was carried over to the table, where Near hopped onto one of the insubstantial chairs and drew a knee up to his thin chest. Pulling the cereal closer, he began to eat in quiet, hurried motions.

Pausing between bites, he inquired, "Have you made very much progress today?"

"A considerable amount," L replied, smiling slightly at the man across the table. "I apologize for not allowing you more control over this particular case, but I didn't believe that you would draw any useful experience from it…"

"I understand," Near said, returning the smile with an awkward one of his own. The two sat in pleasant silence for several minutes, the sharp clacking of the keys on L's laptop and the click of the spoon against Near's cereal bowl providing a quiet and irregular rhythm.

Near finished his insufficient meal, and stood up to deposit the dishes in the sink. "I encountered Mello at the café this afternoon," he ventured, back to L.

"That is unsurprising. He lives several blocks from this building, after all," L said distractedly.

"A fact you neglected to mention," Near quietly accused, running water over the remains of cereal and milk in the sink.

"Oh," L said, finally looking up fully. "Again, I apologize…I did not realize you placed very much importance upon him."

"Importance? I hardly…" Near trailed off. "It was merely surprising to see him today. It has been seven years, after all."

"He dresses rather interestingly nowadays, don't you think?" L asked, chuckling slightly to himself.

"You've seen him, as well?" Near asked, startled.

"He was of great help in the last case, although I of course hired him indirectly."

"But…"

"Surveillance videos," L explained, causing Near to nod.

"Is he a detective, then?" the young man asked, looking thoughtful.

"He certainly is. It was always a bit of an inevitability, don't you agree?" With a last click, L folded the lid of the laptop down. "I am going to go contact our current employer and inform him that the case has been solved. If you wish, you may sort through those files upon the table and look for something intriguing." With another subtle smile, L left the room, retreating to the makeshift office the two had set up in a particularly spacious closet.

Feeling slightly thwarted by the lack of insight L had provided, Near nevertheless picked up the files scattered in a chaotic pattern near the edge of the table. Seating himself once again, he shuffled them until the edges aligned and began to flip.

One after the other, blue file folders landed upon the table, contents deemed too commonplace for a proper investigation.

Finally, Near's hands halted, and one file remained while the others were gently set down. Looking solemnly at the papers inside, Near's face assumed a thoughtful look.

"The Kira case?…how peculiar…"

L's head poked through the door to the "office."

"You've found one?"

"Yes," Near said, his right hand slowly coming up to pull at his hair. "I believe I have."

**A/N: Well, there we have it! Forgive the length of this chapter, but I wanted to start out with something short and informative, to set the scene a bit. I hope you have questions, now! Why is L living with Near? Why haven't Near and Mello seen each other in nearly a decade? Why is the apartment of the world's best detective such a crappy little hellhole, anyway?**

**All these and more will be answered next time! (expect an update sometime soon, but not too soon. I am man, not machine!)**


	2. establishing shot

**Another week, another chapter. Nice updating, right? I'm rather proud of myself.**

**Anyway, welcome back. I believe that this chapter is a bit longer; it certainly has more going on. We're still in the painfully-boring-exposition phase right now, I fear; you can expect a few more chapters that are just setting the scene for the main plot. We learn a bit more about Kira this time around, and are introduced to some more main players in the story. Thoughts are thought, Mello wears a nice coat…exciting things abound. Enjoy!**

**Please REVIEW, I love them so much it's like a disgusting fetish. But…not.**

**Disclaimer: Death Note ain't mine, and the kid is not my son. **

**XXXXX**

Soichiro Yagami stared at the screen of his rather cumbersome laptop as it powered down. As the screen gave a last flicker and went black, the middle-aged man closed the lid with a firm _click. _Sighing, he pushed his chair back from the wood-paneled desk in front of him and tilted his head back, hearing the telltale creak in the tendons of his neck that always signified the end of an exhausting work day.

"Father?" A voice to his left asked quietly. Soichiro turned, grimacing as his stiff body adjusted to the change of position.

"Yes, Light?"

He was met by a concerned pair of brown eyes. "This case seems to be tiring you out. If you want to return to Mother and Sayu this weekend, I'm sure that Aizawa will be able to keep order here…"

The older man smiled, but shook his head. "I'm fine, Light. It's just been a while since anything this important has crossed my desk; I guess I'm getting lazy in my old age." He chuckled and stood, crossing over to the battered coffee machine that lurked in the corner of the bright, sterile room.

"The 'Kira' case," Light Yagami mused, looking at the mess of files that had recently encroached upon his once-pristine desk. "It's unusual, to say the least."

"More than that," Soichiro said darkly, shutting off the machine and aptly balancing the full cup of coffee in one hand. Behind him, the younger Yagami nodded.

"Thirty victims, with only the faintest traces of poison in their bloodstreams. If a pattern hadn't emerged, these wouldn't have been regarded as anything more than heart attacks…" Light frowned at the chaos of his desk, and started to sort papers with a quick hand. He continued to speak, his talent for multitasking ever-evident.

"It's nearly unheard-of for a killer with this many victims to remain un-apprehended. Of course, public sympathy is on his side." This last was said with a sneer.

"Of course," Soichiro commented, coming back to his desk and picking up the laptop with careful hands. "He's only killing criminals, so no one cares enough to turn him in."

"Ridiculous," Light muttered. Placing the last of the file folders on top of the now-neat pile, he abruptly turned and smiled at the other man.

"I have to leave, I'm sorry. I'll say hi to Mother and Sayu for you, alright?"

"Thank you, Light," Soichiro said, smiling at the thin figure of his child. "I appreciate your help, but please don't lose any sleep by coming in early tomorrow. Your schoolwork is just as important as this case, after all."

Light shrugged on a thin khaki jacket, and shouldered the bag that contained his laptop and other personal effects. "I understand. Please, Father, get some sleep yourself!"

Soichiro laughed, and waved shortly at his son as the young man turned and exited.

XXX

Light emerged from the front doors of the NPA headquarters, blinking in the grey light of the early afternoon. Cheerful pedestrians and harried workers streamed past in equal volume; Light simply stood for a moment, enjoying the freshness of the air and the sounds of the bustling city.

Home and sleep beckoned, but a rather more urgent priority was food. The NPA's main imports consisted entirely of coffee and dry pastries, and the area of the city Light was in just so happened to contain some of the best restaurants around, one of them only a block away.

Turning cheerfully in that direction, Light fell into step, skillfully navigating the crowded sidewalks and often-dangerous streets. Occasionally, a passer-by would smile shyly at him, entranced by his handsome features and unusually-colored hair; he returned their smiles perfunctorily but showed no other signs of acknowledgement.

The restaurant was reached very quickly, and Light, not wanting to make his meal a drawn-out affair, took a seat at the bar. Ordering quickly, he settled back with a glass of water—a sensible choice, if not a daring one—and waited patiently for his meal.

"Ah! Light!" A hand fell onto his shoulder, and he resisted the impulse to quickly shove the intruding appendage away. Looking up, he realized that the suit-clad arm belonged to an acquaintance, if not a particularly welcome one.

"Hello, Teru," he said coolly. Inwardly, he bristled as the casually impolite use of his first name.

"It's a pleasure to see you here," Teru Mikami replied, seating himself next to the younger man. "It seems a very long time since I last saw you."

"It has been, certainly," Light agreed, likely not as upset about this fact as Mikami seemed to be. "How has work been?"

"Oh, very enjoyable," the dark-haired man said casually, accepting the bartender's offer of water with a pleasant nod. "And you, Light?"

"The same," Light replied carefully, a polite smile fixed upon his face. "Of course, I am still technically in school…"

Mikami nodded, and stayed silent for a moment, drinking his own glass of water carefully but quickly.

Light quietly pulled back his sleeve to reveal an expensive wristwatch, and frowned at the time. He looked up as a plate of delicious-smelling food was set in front of him, and smiled in relief.

:"Oh, that looks very good. May I, uh…?" Mikami said awkwardly, gesturing towards the plate. Light indicated approval with a wave of his chopsticks.

"Thank you." Mikami snagged several noodles from the plate, and chewed thoughtfully. "Delicious," he commented.

"This is an excellent restaurant," Light informed him, eating quickly. "You're welcome to have some more."

"Ah, no, I actually should be leaving," Mikami said regretfully. "I'm in court tomorrow, and the defense is tricky, so I really have to prepare."

"Yes, of course," Light said, inwardly cursing the eager sound of his agreement. "It was very pleasant to see you, Teru." A lie.

"Oh, you too, Light!" The lawyer assured him, resting one strong hand on the other's shoulder for an uncomfortably long moment. "I…if you happen to not be busy this weekend, I'd love to buy you a drink, catch up a bit…"

"Oh," Light said slowly. "I'm not sure that I'll be available, actually. My apologies."

"No trouble!" Mikami said brightly. "There's always next weekend, ha ha…"

"Yes. Possibly. Oh, I've run out of water…" Light turned around to summon the bartender, a subtle indication to Mikami that the boy was done talking. Smiling slightly at the young man's turned back, Mikami picked up his black briefcase and left the restaurant, making a mental note to return and sample more of the food in the future.

XXXX

Near stumbled into the small kitchen at seven o' clock in the morning, his eyes blurry from a reasonably peaceful sleep.

Unlike his ever-energetic companion, Near had learned the value of sleep at an early age; the old saying had always held true for him, as after a good night's rest, he often found his mind to be much clearer.

L, predictably, had not chosen to sleep that night. Near's slumber had been punctuated by the sounds of typing and vigorous chewing, and these noises were still emanating throughout the tiny apartment as he entered the kitchen.

"L?"

"Here," came the quiet response.

"Good morning," Near said, knowing that his voice would reach the office where L currently sat. "Would you like some cereal?"

The last time that L had eaten something containing bran had probably been decades ago, but Near always insisted upon asking.

"No, thank you, but if you could fetch me the flan that is in the fridge…slightly to the left…"

Following the instructions, Near located the yellowish custard and brought the plate to the older man. L was seated carefully amongst the trailing wires and stray pieces of hardware that littered the dingy floor, his denim-covered knees pulled up to a deceptively bony chest.

"Here," Near said quietly, depositing the flan on the floor in front of the older detective. Never particularly talkative, he retreated to what would likely be called the "family room" if a family ever happened to be unfortunate enough to live here.

There was no furniture in this room save for an office chair of dubious sturdiness. The floor was littered with the evidence of Near's one indulgence—toys. A gleaming Lego castle stood in one corner, its historically-accurate buttresses manned by smiling soldiers. For some reason, a dinosaur perched upon one corner of the castle, turning the scene into a strange cross of medieval and prehistoric.

Robots, cards, and dice lay scattered, many of the cards still stacked in a precarious tower. It was this tower that Near seated himself in front of, although he turned slightly to the left in order to avoid knocking the cards to the floor.

He searched the floor briefly before leaning forward and grabbing a handful of Lego men from their derelict fortress. A permanent marker was dislodged from a plastic barrel of equally-plastic monkeys and uncapped, the sharp smell of black ink immediately evident.

Near picked up the first of the toy men and wrote an elegant "N" on its chest with looping, slightly childlike script. He repeated the process with another three of the little men, inscribing them with the words "L, Mello, Kira." Satisfied, he set them down and stood them in a rough square, the Near and L figures next to each other and Mello and Kira standing slightly apart.

"Thirty victims…" he said softly, dark eyes casting around the room. With a distasteful look, he emptied the barrel of monkeys onto the floorboards and counted out thirty of the little plastic animals. These were placed behind the Kira figure.

This unusual tableau apparently facilitated Near's reasoning in some manner, as the boy's face soon settled into the blank look that meant he was deep in thought.

The small young man spent the next hour crouched in the selfsame spot, occasionally reaching out to shift a figure or turn a monkey thirty-nine degrees clockwise. At precisely eight twenty-one AM, his thoughts were interrupted when L shambled into the room.

"Progress?" the tall man inquired, bare feet padding over to Near's workspace to tap nervously on the floor.

"A bit," the crouching man ventured, finally standing and relieving the pressure on his legs. "It's a singular case."

L nodded, and held out one bony hand. "Fortune cookie?"

Near stared at the small treat in its Hello Kitty wrapping, then shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Fair," L replied, unwrapping the cookie himself and breaking it in half. He fished out the pink fortune. "You-will-be-super-lucky-in-love," he read in a bored monotone. Shrugging, he popped the cookie into his waiting mouth with no further fanfare. "I am going to visit Wammy's in half an hour. If you wish, you can accompany me."

Near looked slightly alarmed, and responded with a simple shake of the head. L nodded in apparent understanding.

"I will try to be back before one, but if my presence is required, dial the third number on the list. I updated it this morning."

"This morning?"

"Yes. One o' clock."

"Oh," Near said. "I think that I will be fine. Will we discuss this Kira case when you return?"

"Ah, definitely!" L said, enthusiasm sparking in his rounded eyes. "I look forward to it. For now, can you assist me in wrapping up the details of the Romanov affair?"

Near nodded and followed L to the office. After a brief moment of awkwardness when they tried to pass through the narrow doorway at the same time, they managed to compress themselves into the tiny space.

Resolutely ignoring the smell of mothballs and elderly cat urine that permeated the former closet, the two quietly worked until eight-thirty.

XXXX

Mello scowled and leaned back in his chair, the mocha clasped in his hands wobbling in a rather threatening manner as his grip shifted. Casting hard green eyes around the café, he searched for a hint of white hair or a shuffling walk.

Nothing. It was a shame, really; Mello had found himself in a disagreeable mood upon waking and desperately wanted someone to argue with.

He was willing to bet a good deal that Near, too, had become a detective. The white-haired boy had vanished from correspondence several years ago; the last Mello had heard of him, he had taken up residence in New York City with an unknown guardian.

Mello had spent some years in America himself, but San Francisco had proved to be only briefly satisfying for the young genius. His return to London was less triumphant than he might have hoped, but after a couple of years desperately trying to break into the public eye, he was finally getting cases from all over Europe.

Another reason that Near had to be a detective; recently, Mello's business had dropped alarmingly. It had occurred to him immediately that another, more prestigious detective might have come to London. However, until seeing Near, he had had no suspicions as to whom it might be.

Damn that Near. Mello had cheerfully cast off their former rivalry as soon as the other boy had left Wammy's; however, it seemed that the other prodigy was determined to haunt Mello for the rest of his days.

Naturally, Near hadn't changed a bit. His hair uncombed and his clothes nearly falling off his body, he was still immediately recognizable as the boy whom Mello had hated a decade ago.

Mello, on the other hand, had undergone a startling transformation. The black jeans and baggy shirts that had served as his uniform back at Wammy's were long gone. They had been replaced by tight leather, tighter pants, and ostentatious coats that billowed around Mello's slender figure at the slightest breeze.

He was currently draped in the most expensive of these, a blood-red leather trench with a ridiculous ruff of black feathers lining the hood and collar. The creamy leather fell perfectly into place around the young man's muscular body, although anyone who was looking hard enough would have spotted the bulge at the waistband where the telltale lines of a handgun marred the smooth surface.

Handguns were, of course, completely illegal in Merry Old England. However, Mello had made enough contacts in law enforcement to keep him out of prison for first-degree murder, never mind illegal gun possession.

Mello liked his gun. It was classy, elegant, and rarely spoke. If only his acquaintances could claim the same distinctions, he would be a happy man.

Growling a bit, Mello set down his mocha and reached for the cheap paper he had purchased at the counter. Glancing with disinterest at the front page headline, he turned to the World Affairs section.

Ignoring several articles about crop failures and hospital policies, he quickly scanned the small section. His gaze alit upon a small article, tucked away in the right corner of the page.

"'KIRA' KILLINGS IN JAPAN CLAIM THIRTY-ONE LIVES."

Mello read this information in a much more interested fashion; after he had finished, he set the paper down on the table

The Kira case: weird, gruesome, mystifying. In other words, right up his alley.

In all likelihood, someone had handed this case to the one man who would seize upon it immediately: L, the greatest detective in the world.

L, Mello's childhood friend and idol. L, who had hired him just last month, under the guise of an elderly eccentric.

It was time to find the man. For once, something interesting was happening in the world, and there was no way in hell that Mello was going to stay uninvolved.

**A/N: Right! Hope you liked that chapter. This fic is really quite fun to write; I haven't suffered from any blocks so far and I think I might actually know where the hell this plot is going. Hurrah for me. **

**You can expect to see a lot of references to past cases in L and Near's conversations; I've been re-reading Sherlock Holmes lately, and I really love the brief mentions of completely ridiculous events, often involving one-armed men and suspicious royalty. **

**Oh, and a note about flan: if you don't know what it is (I hope you do) it's a custard-like Spanish dessert, often drizzled with some sort of caramel sauce in my experience. It's incredibly delicious and sweet and wonderful, and I've been meaning to make some someday. Don't ask me its specific origin, as I'm hardly an expert on regional cuisine. Just eat some. **

**Anyway, bye! Maybe we'll meet again next week. **


	3. propositions

**What's up, dears? Sorry for the late-ish update—it was standardized testing week at my school, a period of time so boring that all creative juices are sucked temporarily from my brain. Dramatic, right? **

**Anyway, a longer chapter today. (About time!) Some action-type things finally start happening here, and we get to prod cheerily at the plot. Also, the reason for L's presence in London is revealed! At last! **

**For once I don't have much to say. So please, if fanfiction be the…uh…something of love, read on!**

**Oh, and REVIEW. Pleases and thankies.**

**Disclaimer: do not own this stuff here. Nope, not me.**

**XXXXX**

A knock sounded dully in the stuffy room.

"Come in."

The hinges creaked as L sidled in, shoulders hunched and eyes peering at his surroundings in curiosity. His gaze settled upon the other occupant of the room, propped up on pillows like a regal corpse.

"Good morning, Wammy," L said softly, shutting the door behind him. The man in the bed smiled cheerily, the expression belying his decrepit exterior.

"L! You've arrived in England after all, then?"

"Yes," L admitted, dark eyes flashing guiltily for a moment. "I've been here for several weeks, actually. I apologize for not visiting more promptly."

"No, no, that's…understandable," Quillish Wammy said comfortingly. Raising a thin hand, he patted the seat of the plastic chair next to the bed. "Come, sit. It feels as though I haven't seen you in years."

"You haven't," L pointed out, climbing onto the recommended seat. "I do wish that you had contacted me as soon as you fell ill, instead of letting Roger tell me when he saw fit."

Wammy chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the reproachful gaze directed at him by his protégé. "I can't say I'm sorry, L. Do you really think you would have just accepted the news? I had no urge to be thrown to a team of specialists who would only have told me what I already knew."

L scowled. "And what if they had told you something different? You can't just accept a single diagnosis so immediately, Wammy...I'm sure that there are treatments, programs that would have helped—"

"You see?" The old man laughed, his voice still robust. "I'm fine with this, L. Although yes, I do wish sometimes that you could have come to see me when I was still up and about."

"You should be in a hospital," L said, eyes accusing. "Really, Wammy, are you even trying to stay alive?"

"There's no point in that now, is there?" For just a moment, Wammy's voice turned bitter. L, of course, noticed. His singularly disconcerting gaze softened.

"You have a reasonable amount of time left, correct?"

Wammy shrugged. "If by 'reasonable' you mean a couple of months, then yes. I've got about five left if I don't try anything risky. It's enough."

"Enough…" L murmured. "I can't imagine myself ever being so prepared to die."

"As well you shouldn't," Wammy said, amused. "I'm eighty-nine. You're hardly past thirty. If there's anything you should be worried about, it's finding someone to start your life with, not end it." He winked quite unsubtly.

"Oh. Marriage again," L said dryly, looking resigned. "If you try to tell me that it's your last wish for me, I really will be hurt."

"Last wish? That would be a bit underhanded, L. I just hope that you won't spend your life alone, with only your job to keep you company."

"There's Near," the other man pointed out. "I do live with him."

"And he's going to need a life of his own, someday," Wammy admonished. "The boy's twenty-one already—if he was a normal child, he'd have already moved out."

"I don't think he's quite ready to live on his own, actually," L said, smiling slightly. "I, at least, realize the inconvenient necessity of wearing shoes in public."

"I rather doubt that."

An alarm went off, and Wammy sighed. "I'm afraid that you'll have to visit later, L. If I don't take my daily nap, the nurse gets furious with me…"

"A nurse? I hope that she's undergone a thorough background check and everything is—" L started. Wammy smiled, interrupting.

"_He _is quite reputable. I believe you will find him waiting outside, come to scold me for not drinking this lovely glass of vitamin-enriched water. Now, go. I'll be expecting you later, you realize."

"Of course," L assured the old man, standing and walking to the door. "I will be back tomorrow."

"Be seeing you, then. Goodbye."

L left the room, once more shutting the door quietly. He was confronted with a pale face, furrowed in concern.

"He's sleeping, right? If he isn't, I seriously give up—" The newcomer trailed off when he saw whom he was addressing. "L! You're in New York, aren't you?"

"Not at the moment," L hazarded. "How are you, Matt?"

The red-haired young man grinned, eyes creasing behind the ever-present orange goggles. "Good, good. Trying to keep Wammy from doing himself in, you know…"

"Didn't you move to London?" L asked, trying to recall Matt's recent activity. This was difficult, as the boy was incredibly good at covering his tracks.

"I did indeed, and technically I'm still living there. But I came back to take care of Mr. Wammy, seeing as how none of the twits they have here now even know him properly."

"Yes, the new generation," L commented, peering down the hall as if expecting to see the entire orphanage standing there. "I haven't really been introduced to them…"

"Don't bother," said Matt. "Bunch of puny little gits. Hey, how's Near?"

L, most unusually, was shocked. Matt grinned, buoyed by the surprisingly warm and fuzzy feeling of having outwitted a secretive genius such as L.

"I'm the reigning computer genius of Britain—not to brag, of course. But if anyone was going to find out that you and Near were living—nay, working—together, you should have expected it to be me."

L chuckled, no longer caught off guard. "I shouldn't be surprised, you're right. How did you find out?"

"Oh, uh…" Matt looked slightly guilty. "I hacked into the records here a while back. Near was adopted by someone named 'Ryuzaki,' and really, what other Ryuzaki would have visited a British orphanage and adopted Near?"

"Well done, I suppose," L said, smiling at the younger man. "Near is well, although he remains quite the same as when you saw him last."

"Good for him. Say, um, L…you and Near…"

"Yes?"

"There's nothing…peculiar going on there, is there?"

"Peculiar?" L inquired, tilting his head and staring at Matt. Matt flushed, but continued.

"You're not. Uh. Havingsexwithhim?"

"I…_what?_" L's normally peaceful face convulsed quite amusingly. "No. Definitely not. _Absolutely _not."

"Oh. Good. Sorry, I just…was kind of wondering…" Matt grinned apologetically.

"No, I…there's nothing of that sort between us. I adopted Near in the capacity of a guardian, and a guardian only." L's eyes were still slightly wide, but he seemed to have recovered from his earlier revulsion.

"Yeah, yeah, of course…so, how's London? Eh?" The subject change was not elegant, but it was certainly a relief to both parties.

"Terrible," L stated flatly. "The only apartment in a suitable location that was available upon short notice is completely unsuited to our work, or dare I say human occupation in general." When this did not seem to convey the proper depths of horror to Matt, he added, "It also smells very peculiar."

"I don't see why you can't just stay at Wammy's," Matt said. "I've survived so far…the kids are annoying but at least it's peaceful if you stay on the top floor and only eat at night."

"I…prefer not to," L said, the look on his face prompting Matt to not ask any further questions.

"Sure, sure," the red-haired boy said. "Look, you probably want to go, so I'll be off…oh! Say hello to Mello for me, eh?"

L stared flatly at the other. "You know exactly where I am living, don't you?" he asked, unamused.

"Um, heh…yeah, I haven't had very much to do lately, so I figured that I'd see what you were up to…"

"I'd offer you a job if I weren't quite so alarmed by your surveillance, Matt," L said, face still slightly irritated.

"Hahahaha, bye," Matt said, choosing the wise path and scampering off down the hallway.

XXXXX

"…So, I grabbed the gun and I smashed him in the fucking face with it! God, he was bleeding all _over _the place, I lost my jacket to that one…but anyway, it was ruled self-defense and the bloke paid me for it, so it was worth the goddamn dry-cleaners looking at me all strange for _months, _I tell you…"

"Mmm-_hmm,_" Near responded, loading the carton of milk in his grasp onto the conveyor belt. "What an…engaging…story."

Mello scowled, resuming the aggressive posture he had always maintained around the younger man. "Whatever, Near. Don't know why the hell I'm talking to you, anyway."

"I must confess that I do not know either," Near said. "I assumed that you desired my company when you accosted me in the bread aisle." The customer in front of him moved away, picking up her flimsy grocery bags and leaving the store. Near took her place.

"What, you're the only person who can go grocery shopping in this neighborhood?" Mello snapped. "And you're not even very good at it. Talking, that is," he added, his taller figure looming over the pale young man in front of him. Near was unperturbed.

"As you were the one who initiated this conversation, you're quite free to end if you find me dull." Near watched as the tired cashier scanned his groceries and tallied up the price—twenty-three dollars. He reached into the front pocket of his loose white shirt and came up with several creased bills, which he carefully placed in the cashier's hand.

"Come on, mate, get a card already," the cashier muttered, rooting around for change in the till's drawer. His feeble protest was ignored.

"So, Near, you actually eat food?" Mello asked, smirking and prodding a tray of ground turkey. Near nodded, and turned to look at his companion.

"Yes. I assume that was not a serious question. Incidentally, are you going to purchase anything, or are you simply standing in line with me for the pleasure it brings you?"

"Touchy, touchy," Mello muttered, still smirking. "'Course I'm buying something." Reaching out a leather-clad arm, he grabbed five chocolate bars from the nearby display case. These were placed firmly upon the conveyor belt, and joined by a tin of sardines that Mello had apparently been concealing about his person for several minutes.

"Sardines and chocolate," Near observed, holding out a hand for the poorly-packed grocery sack the cashier was trying to give to him. "Did these items really necessitate a trip to the largest store in the area?"

Mello didn't respond, and simply shoved a glossy credit card at the beleaguered cashier. To his surprise, Near remained where he was, waiting for the blond to finish his purchase.

"No bag," Mello said absently, taking his items and stuffing them into his pockets with little care for the value of his jacket. He accepted the receipt, leaning in towards the boy behind the counter. "Thank you very much…Declan," he said sweetly to the young man, tapping the blushing Declan's nametag with one dark fingernail. "See you."

The tall blond strode off, grabbing a portion of Near's baggy sleeve as though too much contact would singe his fingers. "Come on, you little bugger, you can go buy me some coffee."

"Alright," Near agreed in a bored sort of tone, falling into step with the larger man. "I thought that you disliked my company?"

"I do," Mello responded. "Very much. However, I want to ask you about something."

They left the store, the automatic doors letting in a brief cold blast of air before creaking shut after them.

XXX

Light Yagami stepped through the front door of his family's home, smiling slightly at the muted murmur of voices sounding from the kitchen. As expected, Sayu appeared in the hall in record time, beaming at her older brother.

"Light! I haven't seen you in way too long!" Sayu pulled him into a hug, and released the older man when he coughed slightly in amusement.

"It's been only a week, Sayu," he gently reminded her, setting his bag down on the floor. "Are you really that lonely at college?"

"No, no!" the dark-haired young woman assured him, laughing a bit. "I just miss my workaholic older brother sometimes!"

"Light?" The two siblings both turned towards the source of the call. "Is that you?"

Sachiko Yagami's cheerful face poked around the corner leading towards the kitchen. "It is! Please, come in here, you have a visitor!"

"A visitor?" Light asked, bemused. "Why didn't they just come to my apartment?" He walked into the kitchen, Sayu following closely behind him.

At the table, a blonde young woman sat. Although she wore a cheerful smile and sat primly with her knees close together, her dark, ornate clothing gave her a rather eccentric appearance.

She caught sight of the new arrival, and leapt to her feet. "Light!"

The young man braced himself, but the enthusiastic hug he received still managed to knock him slightly off balance. He returned the embrace perfunctorily, and then managed to wriggle out of the clasping arms.

"Misa. I thought that we were going to meet later tonight?" he asked, his smile concealing an expression of suspicion. Misa Amane nodded brightly at him, a hand in the crook of his elbow leading him over to the kitchen table.

"We were, of course! But I realized how long it had been since I've seen your sister and your mother, and since I had a shoot in the area, I thought that I'd surprise you and get to see your nice family!"

"Oh," Light said. "Well, I'm…glad to see you." Any trace of reluctance in his voice was indetectible to the other occupants of the room.

The remaining seats at the table were taken by Sayu and Sachiko, the latter accompanied by a bowl of chips. "Snacks, anybody?"

Sayu grabbed a handful of the salty crisps, feeling quite free to stuff them inelegantly into her mouth in such close company. Light winced. "Please chew a bit more politely, Sayu," he chastised.

She grinned. "'kay, _Mom_!" This was accentuated by an extra-loud gnash of her teeth.

"Sayu…" Sachiko sighed. "You two are far too old to still be antagonizing each other."

"I think it's adorable!" Misa chimed in, her hand still clasped around Light's elbow in an affectionate grip. "Even Light cant' be super-serious around his family, huh?"

Light smiled shortly in agreement, then addressed his mother. "Dad says hello, and he's sorry that he can't make it home." Sachiko nodded, looking resigned to the news. Sayu, however, felt the need to contribute.

"Kira again? I'm so tired of stupid Kira, I could kill him myself! I haven't seen Dad for months!"

Sachiko shook her head disapprovingly, both at Sayu's apparent bloodlust and Light's laughter. "Sayu, he's only been on the Kira case for two weeks," the young man said, raising an eyebrow at his scowling sister.

"Huh!" Sayu said, grabbing a few more chips. "Well, he's always busy anyway."

The four sat around the table for half an hour more, exchanging stories and bickering cheerfully. Eventually, Light rose, and gestured to Misa that she should do so as well.

"Thank you for having us over, but I promised Misa that we could go out to dinner tonight." he smiled apologetically.

"Of course, of course!" Sachiko said. "Please, both of you are welcome any time, you know that."

"Yeah, Light, don't be a stranger," Sayu said, her words obscured by the last of the chips. Light nodded, and waved to his mother and sister. They returned the gesture.

Once he and Misa had left the house, the small young woman turned to him. "I'm sorry, Light," she said, "but I really haven't seen your family for such a long time and I was close by…I didn't ruin our date, did I?"

Light chuckled, internally wondering if he was ever going to be able to reclaim his left elbow from the girl. "How would this ruin our date?"

"Well," Misa said reflectively, "I _was _going to dress up really nicely for the restaurant. But it's almost time for us to be there, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's a rather informal setting. You'll be fine."

"Okay!" Misa said agreeably, finally releasing Light's arm so as not to seem improper in public. "Oh, did you get that thing—"

Light, alarmed, shushed her. "Not here, Misa."

"There's no one around," the girl pouted, arms crossed over her chest. "And I need to ask you something about…that."

"We can go back to my apartment after dinner," Light said, reluctant. Misa brightened.

"Oh, it's been such a long time since I got to stay at Light's apartment," she sighed happily.

"It's just to talk, Misa," he said, frowning slightly at her. She grinned.

"Don't be so boring, Light! Now come on, we're going to be late for dinner!" She sped up, leaving a resigned Light to follow.

XXX

"You know where L is."

Near was silent, although he spared Mello a doubtful glance.

"You do. Don't bother with the innocent expression," Mello accused, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wooden slats of the park bench. Near shrugged, and took a sip of the milk he had purchased at the coffee shop.

"Why would you assume that, Mello?" he asked. The blond grinned.

"You remember Matt?" he inquired, his voice cheerful. Near nodded cautiously.

"Of course. He is a close friend of yours, correct?"

"Mmm-hmm," Mello affirmed, gulping down some of his own coffee. "Now, you remember what Matt was good at, don't you?"

"A wide variety of things," Near said. "But I assume that you are referring to his skill with computers?"

"Yep. Although a bit more specific than that—he's the best hacker I know."

"Ah," Near said, looking as though realization had dawned slightly upon him. "And he has suggested that I am connected to L?"

"Sort of," Mello retorted, leaning back comfortably. A leafy branch from the bush behind the bench waved in his face, but he ignored it. "I won't tell you the whole story, but suffice to say that L hired me for…a job…a while back. I wasn't supposed to know who my employer was, but I found out anyway. So, yesterday, I realized that I needed to find L, never mind why."

"You called Matt?"

Mello looked irritated at the interruption, but let it pass without comment. "Yes. It was actually hard to get a hold of him—he's away from home—but I finally found him. I asked him if he knew anything useful, and he told me something that was rather interesting."

"I can't imagine," Near said flatly, picking at the white fabric covering his knee. He did not meet Mello's eyes, and the young man continued his story.

"He hacked into Wammy's records, and told me that seven years ago, you were adopted by a man named Ryuzaki. Of course, both he and I knew that Ryuzaki was an alias for L—and what other Ryuzaki would have adopted you?"

Near did not speak for a moment, then shifted his gaze to meet Mello's. "I will admit that this much is true. But what makes you think that I am still in contact with L?"

"L was reputed to be in New York City. Last month, I know for a fact he was here in London. And you—you were also supposed to be in New York. Now, here you are, buying me coffee three blocks from my apartment. It's not a coincidence, is it?"

Near shrugged. "It very well may be."

"Near. Why the hell can't you just admit that you're still with L? It's not like I'm going to sell him out to anyone—I need to talk to him, that's all. And that would be a damn sight easier if you didn't try to make every damn sentence out of your mouth so enigmatic." Mello scowled at his companion, eyes blazing with a look of intense dislike that Near could easily recall from his childhood.

"I wasn't aware that I had such a habit," he commented, not bothering to quell the smirk that worked its way onto his lips. Much to his amusement, Mello's eye twitched at the statement.

"Sure you weren't, you little bastard. Will you tell me where L is? I'm sure Matt knows, but I'm not in the mood to bribe it out of him."

"You're looking for L…" Near raised the ridge of skin that was, for a lack of a better description, an eyebrow. "You want to work on a case with him."

Mello seemed to be under the influence of a brief internal struggle, but finally he gave a short nod. Near smiled.

"More specifically, the Kira case."

"Huh," Mello bit out, looking irritated. "Always one step ahead, aren't you, Near?"

"You mentioned that you decided to seek out L yesterday. The Kira case is sensational, mysterious, and has only just started to become known in Europe. You naturally assumed that L would be given the Kira case, as it's a case that must be solved quickly and efficiently, and yet is incredibly puzzling."

Mello said nothing, frowning as his motives were so clearly exposed. But then Near leaned to the side, looking at the other man with that faint smile still on his face.

"You were correct."

"L _does _have the Kira case?" Mello asked urgently, his sulk dissipating at an alarming speed.

"Yes."

"Then I have to find him, ask him if I can—" He trailed off, looking suddenly sour. "But of course, he already has you working on it, doesn't he?"

"He does."

"Damnit!" Mello said violently. "It was just _handed _to you, wasn't it? The biggest case of the millenium, and you didn't even have to earn the right to work on it—you probably just thought it was _interesting._"

"What else was I supposed to think of it?" Near asked placidly.

Mello stood. "Piss off, Near," he sighed. "You don't…ha, you don't get it. _Git._"

Far from offended, Near simply leaned forward in his seat. "Mello. You want to work on the Kira case."

"Well-spotted, asshole," the blond man retorted.

"Then, why don't you?" the younger retorted, eyes wide and very nearly innocent.

Mello gaped.

"'Scuse me?" he asked, too stunned to even snarl his words.

"At no point during this conversation did I say that your help was not wanted on the case. On the contrary, I have always believed that if we were to collaborate in our work, it would be possible to surpass even L." Near continued to stare at the other, voice quite serious.

"We…um, we hate each other, though," Mello replied weakly, his contradictory attitude still on autopilot.

"I am sure that our enmity can be safely put aside for the duration of the Kira case," Near said dryly, two fingers reaching up to pull at a wind-swept lock of hair. "Besides which, I don't believe that I dislike you that much at all, Mello."

"Oh, good, you just like to mercilessly antagonize everyone then?" Mello asked, the look on his face more considering than venomous.

Near said nothing, long-accustomed to Mello's rather rhetorical insults.

After a moment more of thought, Mello walked forwards. "You're inviting me to work with you and L?"

"Yes," Near said steadily. He extended a pale hand, the other one still twirling its fine lock of hair mercilessly.

With only a momentary grimace, Mello shot out his own slender hand and grasped Near's palm firmly.

"I don't like you," he said, giving their clasped appendages one curt shake and then dropping the other's hand as though poisoned. "However, I can stand your nasty little personality if it means that we catch Kira."

"How noble," Near commented. "In that case, it is advisable that we inform L of our new partnership, no?"

"Yeah." Mello tossed his coffee cup into one of the park's trash cans, and waited impatiently for Near to stand. Then, a thought struck him.

"I still don't know where the hell you live," he confessed. Near smirked, a habit that looked to be an unfortunate constant in Mello's future.

"Wipe that ugly grin off and just lead the way, will you?" Mello muttered. Near complied, shuffling off towards the eastern end of the park with slow steps.

Mello followed him grudgingly. He found himself hoping that Near and L lived on the first floor—otherwise, the temptation to push that creepy albino bastard out of a window might prove to great to resist.

**XXXXX**

**Hey, that was fun! No? **

**I might be able to have a new chapter out by the middle of next week—but really, I should be studying for final exams, and grades beat fanfiction in my scale of importance every time. Sorry!**

**I hope you're enjoying this fic—I kind of miss the more humorous tone of IAWL, but I think that IT will eventually lighten up a bit once we're past **_**all **_**of the introductions and the remaining bits of exposition.**

**One final note—I'm gonna be off at what I've personally termed "nerd camp" for almost the entire month of July. It's highly unlikely that I'll be posting any new chapters while there, because I'm not the sort of person who goes about writing fanfiction in, you know, public…**

**So, probably no July updates. I'll try to get as much in as I can before that, though, so don't panic.**

**Bye! See ya next time, hopefully!**


	4. courting disaster

**So. Um. Yesssss. Remember me? **

**I have left this story abandoned for so long that any returning readers likely think that I perished at nerd camp a year ago. But, hey, I didn't! I just got sucked in by school and pals and theatre and various other geeky interests, and I really do apologize. Unlike some stories, it was never my intent to completely desert this one. It's quite fun to write, after all.**

**So I have returned. I think that I'll stick around for a while—I feel obligated to see this one through to the end. I need to go back and edit some things because certain elements of the plot as they were are, um, stupid. **

**Apologies for what is probably a shift in my writing style. It's been a while, hopefully I've improved instead of regressed. **

**If you review, I'll love you forever and feel even more guilty. So you should totally do that.**

**And now, without further ado, let us resume this long-delayed epic.**

**DISCLAIMER: haha, do you really think I own Death Note? **

XXXXX

"Are you sure that you don't want a piece of cake?"

Mello looked down at the bowl of chocolate ice cream balanced in his lap, the cup of overly sweetened tea sitting untouched in his right hand, and the plate of brownies that had been set upon the floor next to him. He then looked back up and was met by the intense and rather discomfiting gaze of the mentor he had not seen in over eight years.

Were it not for the small plate containing vanilla frosted cake being repeatedly nudged against Mello's leather-clad knee, it likely would have been a touching moment.

"Pretty sure, yeah," Mello said, as the rim of the plate bounced gently against his kneecap. "But thanks."

"Really? No cake at all?" L frowned and withdrew his arm. "Near, I suppose you have to finish this off, then."

The cake was set in front of the white-haired boy, who made no move save to stare at his unexpected windfall dispassionately. He had eaten cake once in his life before and saw no need to repeat the experience.

Mello took a gulp of his tea in order to appease his host, who seemed displeased by the lack of cake-directed enthusiasm. This gesture prompted two unfortunate results. One: even taking Mello's alarmingly high tolerance for sweetness into account, the tea was less actual tea and more a turgid mug of vaguely herb-flavored water and swirling sugar. The tooth-crumbling taste of the beverage caused Mello to shudder, a gesture that was only partly suppressed and resulted in the second unfortunate result, namely the violent collision of Mello's elbow with the wall.

The pain was negligible, but the sudden contact with plaster served to remind Mello that—for whatever reason—he was sitting in what amounted to a closet with two adult men, surrounded by plates of dessert, computer equipment, and obsessively organized file folders.

Mello had realized upon stepping into Near and L's apartment that, all things considered, he should have taken into account that the home of two antisocial geniuses with compulsive mannerisms would be, well, not the most welcoming place in London.

Mello's apartment was-if not, strictly speaking, tasteful-then at least luxuriously decorated. He had applied the deep red paint to the walls himself, hunted high and low for the ideal monochrome wall prints, and spent his first commission check on the gleaming and shockingly comfortable leather couch that served as a centerpiece to his living room. It was immediately obvious to him that Near and L had taken no such pains with their own abode, despite having—cumulatively—more money than God.

The apartment was blatantly a shithole; there was no helping that. But instead of trying to brighten the place up, the two detectives had simply allowed entropy to devour the place whole. The cracks in the walls surrounded by thumbtacked papers from files and hastily-scribbled notes, the perpetually damp carpeting scattered with cords and puzzle pieces, the mismatched chairs set at the wobbly kitchen table—all these signs pointed to residents whose intense focus on intellectual pursuits eclipsed any inclination towards comfort or basic physical well-being. Mello had shuddered as soon as he set foot in the place and drawn his leather trench close to his body in order to avoid contact with the grayish mold creeping up the walls.

And now he was crammed into this, this sleuthing cupboard, knee-to-knee (face to face was a given in such crowded quarters) with both his least favorite person and the man whose footsteps he had been trying to follow in since the day that they had met.

Mello would continue to worship L if the man turned out to be the Antichrist himself, so he had decided to transfer all his disgust at the current situation toward Near, who had been the recipient of at least twelve deadly glares since he had first brought Mello to the apartment roughly twelve minutes ago.

Mello shot another one of these at the curly white head next to him and was met with the boy's typically passive gaze. He snorted and turned his attention back to L.

"You probably know why I'm here," he said, and downed a spoonful of ice cream. No use ignoring chocolate, even if it wasn't his favored method of conveyance.

"You want to work on the Kira case. Or rather, you want to work with me—the Kira case, however, is the best opportunity you have found, " L replied instantly. Statements, not questions. L's eyes were as wide and emotionless as ever, but Mello fancied he could detect some hint of amused approval twinkling in their depths.

"Yeah. I figure, if you haven't solved this Kira thing already, then it's pretty damn challenging. And I'm one of the best in the continent now, I know I am, and if you're going to have any help it might as well be me."

"I do have Near already," L pointed out. Near studiously avoided Mello's gaze.

"Yeah." Mello stared at the boy his idol had chosen to adopt—the boy who was nothing like himself—and his eyes narrowed. "You have Near. But does that mean you can't have me?"

"No," L said, and this time the smile actually worked its way to his face, the corners of his lips tugging almost imperceptibly upwards. "I suppose it doesn't."

Mello grinned and realized that he could hear his heart thumping in his ears. That tiny smile from the world's number-one detective couldn't have been more satisfying. He had made it to L at last, quite literally in fact.

But Near—Near was still better, wasn't he? It was Near who lived here, Near who had set up this little closet base of operations, Near who was exchanging a glance with L that meant nothing to Mello.

They were close, and Mello, despite having finally broken into their operation, wasn't part of whatever confusingly familial bond they shared. He had imagined, as he carefully drew closer and closer to L and this case, that once he was accepted, he would be able to fit in with no trouble, be able to work and talk and even laugh with the man who was, for lack of a better word, his hero.

But as he sprawled in the corner of this tiny office, watching Near and L sit in those uncomfortable and nervous manners that were so eerily similar, he realized he was still outside, and someone close to him—not that there was a wide population able to claim that distinction—might have seen the sudden bitter sadness that clouded his grin and caused his back to slouch further against the musty wall. But then again, they might not have noticed; for once, Mello had determined to keep his emotions to himself.

Near and L were impassive and disconnected, and if he was going to intrude on what they had formed for themselves, his feelings would only be a liability, just as they always had been.

Mello had got what he wanted at last. It was time to dispense with weakness.

So he grinned his crooked grin that so resembled a smirk, chuckled, and stuck out an arrogant hand. "Does that mean I'm in, then?"

L took his palm between two bony fingers and approximated a handshake. "It does. Welcome to the Kira case, Mello."

Surprisingly, Near also extended a pale arm. "I look forward to working with you," he murmured, expression entirely opaque as he shook Mello's reluctant hand.

"Yeah," Mello said. "Whatever."

XXXXX

Light Yagami opened his eyes, groaned, and said frankly to the ceiling of his flat: "Grrrngh."

After a brief pause, he tried again. "Ugh."

Better. That was better. Not strictly a word, but verging on coherent. He was ready to face the day.

Light sat up slowly, the muscles in his shoulders still tense and creaky with exhaustion. He had fallen asleep on the couch at some point, and now the dark brown tweedish fabric had worked its pattern into the creased flesh of his arms—likely his face, too, he realized with some irritation.

A quick look around the flat assured him that Misa was long gone. He remembered her presence from last night, sitting on the couch and chattering enthusiastically and…. oh. Right. Storming out in a twirling huff when Light had resisted her efforts to pull him into the bedroom for an entirely different sort of activity.

The couch cushions still smelled of her perfume, bright and flowery and presumably enticing. Light winced and shoved the cushions to the floor, standing up and stretching stiffly in the same movement. His neck and back echoed with an impressive chorus of cracks, and his stomach swayed queasily with the change in position.

The feeling of yesterday's clothing against his skin had started to bother him already and he headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the neatly folded stack in the hall closet. The sudden shock of the cold wood flooring against his feet made him shiver, but he stripped off his shirt regardless and tossed it onto the floor outside the bathroom. A departure from the usual fastidiousness, yes, but he would take care of it presently.

Teeth. That was the first thing. His mouth tasted awful, as though he had been chewing on newspaper. He stood in front of the sink and hunted methodically for the toothpaste, which Misa—as ever—had moved from its customary spot. This time it was on top of the toilet tank.

A sudden beeping sound indicated that his phone, kept in his pocket all night, had some banal communication to impart. He pulled the sleek black rectangle out of its wrinkled khaki prison and typed in the passcode, tired fingers still fumbling slightly over the keys.

A text from his sister. His university student sister who never woke up before ten on Tuesdays, her one free day of the week. Light frowned and opened the text.

His eyes widened and his hands, slack with shock, dropped the phone to the hard tile floor, where it landed noisily and proceeded to skitter under the sink cabinet.

Light cursed weakly and dropped to his hands and knees, groping around until he located the now chipped phone. It was still on, amazingly, and he opened the browser to his homepage, a world news site.

It was on the front page, just as he'd expected. The headline said all that he needed to know.

Light lunged for the toilet, the queasiness in his stomach twisting suddenly into a violent pain. Happily, he didn't have far to go.

Light Yagami was a lot of things. He was vomiting into a toilet at 6:30 on a Tuesday morning, first of all. He was the darling of the SPK, a brilliant young man with worlds of potential. He was the boyfriend of a model.

He was Kira, and responsible for the deaths of over 75 criminals.

He was crying, although he hadn't quite noticed yet.

Most importantly, Light Yagami was the son of a man who had just been shot in the head.

XXXXX

"I've got an idea," Mello said. It was less of an idea than a demand, really, but this was likely the best way to frame it.

Two pairs of dark and unreadable eyes instantly locked onto his face. Near, seated on the ground in front of a typically elaborate puzzle of the Alhambra, continued to sort corner and side pieces into their separate piles, while L—balanced awkwardly on the room's one chair—ceased typing for a moment.

There was an overlong silence while Near and L waited for Mello to state his idea and Mello in turn waited to be asked about said idea. All parties, unfortunately, surrendered at once.

"I think that it would be wisest to—"

"Yes, what is—"

"By all means say it—"

All concerned broke off at once at stared blankly at each other.

"Mello, please tell us your idea," L hazarded again.

Mello grimaced. That exact exchange was one of the reasons why his idea was absolutely and irrefutably awful. However, it was also entirely practical, and thus he had to sell it convincingly.

"Alright. You've probably noticed…that is, it's evident…." Mello tried, he really did, but when it came right down to it he did not speak as elegantly or coolly as his two companions. They'd really just have to adjust.

"This bloody apartment, that's the thing. I've seen nicer crack dens. You lot mustn't be happy here, right?"

"I am happier here than I would be in a crack den," Near stated. Mello stared oddly at him.

"L?"

"You're right, Mello," L said amiably. "I'm afraid it was all we could find on short notice while still keeping a low profile. I assume your idea, then, relates to the quality of our accommodations?"

"Yeah." Mello grimaced mentally, but plowed on nonetheless. "This place is tiny and shitty and probably kind of dangerous. I haven't needed to keep that low a profile, so I've got a really nice flat a few streets away. Now that we're all working together…it might be in our best interests…that is…ugh."

He stared into the eyes of his companions and saw a complete lack of comprehension. Geniuses. They made everything somehow more difficult.

"You two. You should come and live with me. I've only got the one bedroom, but L—you don't sleep except in chairs in any case, do you?"

"That is often where I lose consciousness, yes," L admitted cheerfully.

"And Near can take the couch."

"I am bringing my things," Near stated flatly. This appeared to be an acquiescence of sorts.

"So, you're both…alright with that?"

"I see no problem with it," L replied. "Near?"

"Mello has adequate floor space, I assume?" the young man asked, once more piecing his puzzle together and staring intently at the floor.

"Yes," Mello said dryly. "Mello does."

"I agree to Mello's proposition, then," Near said. In a glorious display of social facility, he now appeared to be addressing his puzzle.

"Great. Fantastic. Argh."

"Argh?" Near murmured.

"Didn't say that," Mello lied. That part had been intended for his thoughts but, he reasoned, a man could only take so much horror at a self-inflicted fate before crumbling a bit.

"We will pack up our belongings. Mello, would you like to return to your flat and prepare it for our arrival?" L asked, standing—or rather, hunching slowly upwards—and closing his laptop with a snap.

"Yeah, sure." The blond man turned to leave, and then hesitated. "You've already found out where I live, haven't you?"

"Of course," Near and L replied in tandem.

Mello shuddered. He would ask himself just what he'd gotten himself into, but unfortunately, he already knew the answer.

_XXXXXX_

_**Alright, well, there you go. I hope it was a decent effort. Let me know if you still like this darn thing, and hopefully I'll see you next time!**_


	5. cheap macho posturing

**"I'm not even IN this fandom anymore," i whisper to myself. "What is wrong with me oh god"**

**In other words: I wrote another chapter! at the very least, you can regard this as a living document re: the evolution of my writing style, i guess?**

**Cheers to you if you're still reading this after all this time. :')**

**disclaimer: death note isn't mine (and i'm obviously insane)**

* * *

Mello heaved a grim sigh as he dropped the final box from the van square onto the living room carpet. Straightening up, he clutched at the small of his back with a wince. The apartment was a second-story walk-up, and though that wasn't much of a bother on a day-to-day basis, moving all of L and Near's surprisingly heavy shit in had made every joint in his body scream like an old man's. "There's not much to take care of," L had said. "We travel light." What a _lie. _Someone needed to remind L of the benefits of living in the internet age: namely, the ability to digitize case files instead of wasting untold-of amounts of paper on the things and hoarding them to boot. Grumbling, Mello walked over to the couch and flung himself onto the soft leather with a moan of relief.

He wasn't quite sure how he had ended up carrying the lion's share of boxes up to his apartment. Admittedly, Near's first attempt had ended in disaster when a stray shoelace had caused the boy to plummet down a good half a flight of stairs (Mello smiled in fond remembrance). He was out for the count after that, sure, but what the hell was L's excuse?

The man himself appeared at that instant, nudging open the apartment door with one poorly shod foot. He slouched his way into the living room and stood in the center of the room, presumably surveying his new living space.

Mello followed his gaze and screamed internally at the sight of his beloved apartment, his sanctum sanctorum, now sullied by haphazard piles of boxes and overflowing suitcases. It was messy, ugly, and he knew that Near's inevitable takeover of the floorspace would only make it uglier.

"You have a lovely apartment," L remarked. Mello groaned.

"The floor plan is excellent. Nice and open. It should suit our needs admirably," the detective continued, peering into the hallway and the kitchen beyond. He nodded once, cheerful, and came to sit beside Mello on the couch.

"No shoes on the couch!" Mello barked. Obediently, L toed off his ratty sneakers and tucked his feet back onto the seat. Mello scowled. "Are you just going to leave those there?"

L gave him a look of surprise. "What else would I do with them?"

"Shoe rack. By the door." Mello jabbed a rather aggressive finger in the appropriate direction.

Suitably chastened, L reclaimed his shoes and stood up. "I see that you keep a very neat home, Mello," he said. There was a distinct sullen note in his voice.

As L walked over to the shoe rack, there was a knock on the door. As the door was already hanging open, this served only to push it into the room, revealing the somewhat wan figure of Near. There was a large, swollen bruise on his forehead and he appeared rather shaken, inasmuch as Near could ever look shaken.

"Near," L said, dropping his sneakers somewhere in the vicinity of the shoe rack with a soft _thump. _"Do you feel recovered?"

"I suppose so," Near replied. He moved into the room, closing the door behind him. "Mello."

"Hmmph."

"I locked up the moving van as you asked. Would you like the keys back?"

"Mmf," Mello grunted, tone vaguely affirmative. He had sunk so far back into the couch by now that it appeared to be eating him. He had tried shutting his eyes in an effort to deny reality, but it didn't seem to be working.

Soft footsteps approached the couch and Mello heard the faint jingle of his key chain being dropped onto the couch. "Hnn," he said.

"You're quite welcome."

There was then quite a long pause, so long that Mello reluctantly pried open his eyes to take stock of the situation. Both of his new roommates were staring at him expectantly, Near from the floor and L still standing by the shoe rack. Mello suppressed a shudder and hoisted himself upwards.

"Right. L. You're living in the office, more or less. Second left down the hallway." L nodded amiably and continued to stand completely still. Mello sighed. "Feel free to move your things in there."

"Of course," L said, smiling blandly, still not moving.

Mello ground his teeth. "_Now. _Uh, please…do that now. If you would."

It was amazing how his hero worship of L had turned into maddening frustration in such a short amount of time. The man had more social graces than Near, surely, even if he wasn't willing to own up to them. Mello couldn't help but suspect that the older detective was quite deliberately messing with him.

All in all, he had much preferred the hero worship.

But here-wonder of wonders!-L was shuffling off towards his stack of boxes, apparently intent on carrying them into the office. Mello wondered how likely it was that they would ever be properly unpacked. Estimation: not bloody likely.

He turned to Near, who stared at him placidly. "You're on the couch," he said.

"Yes."

"I've got sheets. And things. Do you need them?" Mello ground out.

"Just a pillow and a blanket," Near replied, barely sparing him a glance. Mello grit his teeth again (at this rate, he'd have to dig that mouth guard out of the bedside cabinet) and stalked off to his bedroom. He rooted through the pillows at the head of the bed, seized the one he deemed to be the lumpiest, and walked back out into the living room, tossing the pillow onto the couch. "I'll get the blanket."

"Yes."

The blanket was scratchy and woolen and buried at the bottom of a trunk full of much nicer blankets. Mello draped it over the back of the couch with a certain vindictive glee. "There you go," he said. "All set up."

Near glanced at the couch with a distinct lack of interest. "That will do nicely, Mello," he said. "Thank you."

"Hn. Well." Mello stood aimlessly behind the couch, not quite ready to leave Near in sole possession of his precious (and now defiled) living room. "Do you want anything?"

"Want?" Near asked blankly.

"Water? Tea?…" No response. "Coffee?…Schnapps?"

Near widened his eyes, implying that his invisible eyebrows were raised in some fashion.

"That's all I've got," Mello said defensively. "If you don't want anything, though, I'm lea-"

"What kind of schnapps?"

Mello blinked, trailing off. "Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"Uh…peppermint," Mello replied, somewhere between irritated and bewildered.

"Sounds lovely," Near said serenely. He pushed himself up off the floor and came to stand beside Mello. "Thank you."

Mello scowled, still somewhat bemused, and strode off towards the kitchen.

* * *

"This is quite nice."

Mello grunted, staring into a rapidly cooling cup of coffee. Near sat across the kitchen table, perched precariously on one of the lavishly engraved chairs Mello had picked up for a song from an old client. L had reluctantly wandered off to go return the moving van some ten minutes ago; Mello had been quite surprised to learn he could drive in the first place.

The white-haired boy took another sip of the mixture of milk and peppermint schnapps Mello had grudgingly prepared for him, brow slightly furrowed against the kick of the schnapps. "I've never had alcohol before," Near commented, and tipped the glass back again.

Mello looked up from his coffee. "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously.

"Is it so hard to believe?"

Mello scowled. "It's easy to believe that you don't drink, but why are you starting _now?_"

"Well," Near said, swirling his glass around with every semblance of interest, "this is the first time anyone's offered it to me."

"Great." Mello tossed back a good third of his coffee in one gulp. "I expect you'll turn out to have an allergy, or something."

"That's quite unlikely. Besides, I feel fine." Near took yet another sip of his drink, and Mello noted with some surprise that the glass was nearly empty. He looked up. The tip of Near's nose had gone slightly pink; it was rather charmingly terrible, he supposed.

"I expect you do," Mello said drily. "Now, should I stop you from drinking the rest of my schnapps, or do the immoral thing and get you drunk?"

"Is Mello threatening my virtue?"

Mello choked. "No! Christ. What the hell?"

"I don't understand how allowing me to become inebriated would be immoral in any other context," Near said pleasantly. His glass was, by now, quite empty.

"It would be immoral because…because…" Mello paused, not entirely sure of his answer. It had seemed a natural thing to say-but why? "I suppose," he said slowly, "it'd be immoral because I dislike you, and if I let you get drunk, it'd be solely to see you make a fool of yourself."

"How refreshingly honest," Near said. "Why are you so sure that I'd make a fool of myself?"

"Alcohol lowers boundaries." Mello scowled across the table. "And you...you're all boundaries."

"How can you know that?" Near smirked. "Perhaps I simply don't feel all the ridiculous things that propel Mello to such a dramatic extent."

Mello snarled silently, fingers clenching tight around his coffee mug. "Or perhaps you're just a smug, repressed little _shite._"

"Perhaps," Near said, voice still pleasant.

"All _right, _then," Mello growled, standing up from the table abruptly and seizing the bottle of schnapps from the counter. He grabbed Near's glass off the table and tipped a generous amount of the clear liquor into it. "There you go. I guess we're going to find out."

Near wrinkled his reddened nose in distaste. "No milk?"

"You'll live."

Near reached for the glass and took a rather dainty sip. Although he attempted to disguise his small shudder, Mello spotted it immediately.

"Or is it too much to handle after all?" he asked, voice oozing false sweetness.

"I expected better of Mello than this sort of cheap macho posturing," Near replied. Nonetheless, he took another sip. And another.

"I engage in only the finest macho posturing, thank you very much," Mello said, voice wry. "Are you enjoying your schnapps?"

"Certainly," Near replied. "Tell me, is one intended to refer to schnapps in a singular or a plural fashion?"

"It's either-or," Mello said. "Like 'sheep.' You must be horrified to discover such a gap in your omniscience."

"I make an effort to only remember things I consider important." Near shrugged. "Minty alcohol is not, in my estimation, particularly important whatsoever."

Mello smirked in reply. "You did ask."

"I did. The answer was as dull as I had expected. I'll try to forget it at the first possible opportunity."

Mello's eyes narrowed, and he gave a snort of disgust. "Of course you will."

He was answered by the clink of Near's empty class onto the tabletop. "I seem to be done with this glass. If you're still dedicated to my ultimate disgrace, you may want to refill it."

Mello stared hard at him. The alcohol was obviously starting to take effect in a more than superficial manner. The bulk of Near's face had gone rather paler than usual, clashing horribly with the purpled bruise on his forehead; his nose and cheeks, however, were quite red, and his eyes had taken on an odd cast. For a moment, Mello felt a fleeting sensation of what might have been guilt. Near looked more diseased than drunk, all told.

The feeling soon passed, however, and he poured out another glass. "This is your last one," he said tonelessly. "I don't know how many will kill you, after all."

"I'm flattered by your caring," Near said. Mello glared at him.

"I'm sure you realize this by now, Near, but I couldn't care _less _about you. I do, however, care about my bathroom, and I don't want you puking all over it."

Mello could have sworn he saw a flash of emotion in the younger man's eyes at the words, but it was buried so quickly that he couldn't begin to identify it.

"My mistake. Mello is positively defined by his disregard for me. I had forgotten."

"You think you're awfully important, don't you?" Mello leveled a glare across the table. "I'm not _defined _by anything to do with you, either. Maybe back at Wammy's I was, but right now, you're nothing more than an obstacle I have to navigate to solve the Kira case. If that means you sleeping on my couch and drinking all my liquor, alright. I'll deal with it. But don't go thinking that you're anything more to me than a minor annoyance, because you aren't. Got it?"

Near looked at him and blinked once, slowly, before lowering his eyes back to his glass. "Of course," he murmured. "My mistake." There was a rather odd harmonic in his voice, something Mello couldn't quite grasp. He pursed his lips and stared at the boy, distaste mingled with confusion.

"Are you feeling alright?" he finally said, voice grudging. Near was no longer drinking, simply looking down into his half-full glass, shoulders hunched as if to defend against some imaginary enemy.

"I am perfectly fine," Near replied, and raised his glass to his mouth. Mello glanced at Near's hands, saw the slightly unsteady tremble in his fingers, and all of a sudden, Near lost his grip and the glass became no more than an assortment of wet, glittering shards spread across the table.

Near glanced down at the wreckage in mute surprise. "Oh," he said. There was a rather large wet patch spread across the chest of his shirt, and the air smelled very strongly of peppermint.

Mello, momentarily dumbfounded, soon snapped into action. "Goddamnit, Near," he griped, pushing his chair back from the table. "I didn't know you could _be _more of a pain in the ass. Wait, no, stop that-"

Near, with apparent disregard for his still-shaky hands, was attempting to place the broken glass into a pile on the table. Even as Mello barked out a warning, the younger boy let out a surprised "Ah!" and snaked his left hand back from the table with lightning speed.

"You see?!" Mello said. Near stared back mutely, the fingers of his wounded hand clenched tight. Mello let out a long, hissing sigh. "Alright, great. You bleeding?"

Near nodded and unfurled his fingers, holding out his palm for inspection. Mello recoiled; Near had opened up his index finger a good half-inch, and his entire hand was sticky with blood. "Great," Mello groaned, "just great. Alright, hold on a second, I'll go get...something..."

He darted out of the room and came back a moment later, toting a small plastic box emblazoned with a red cross. Near hadn't budged, and as Mello entered the room, he was pinned by a rather mournful gaze from dark eyes. Mello fought back a snort; that expression was pure L.

"Congratulations on sustaining your second gruesome injury of the day," Mello drawled, setting the box on the table and snapping open the lid with a practiced click. "And, you know, it's only two o' clock, there's still time to fit in another if you hurry." He withdrew a packaged antibacterial wipe and several band-aids, arraying them neatly along the dry side of the table. "Go wash your hands."

Near staggered obediently to his feet and complied, smearing the faucet handle with a bloody handprint in the process.

"Good. Okay, give me your hand," Mello said, yanking Near's palm towards him whilst carefully avoiding the other's boy gaze. Near didn't flinch during the bandaging process, not even when the peroxide on the wipe made contact with his cut. Mello idly wondered if alcohol was dulling Near's senses, or if the boy's unfeeling persona just extended to physical pain as well.

"Right. There you go." Mello pushed Near's hand in the vague direction of the rest of his body and snapped the first-aid kit shut. Near glanced briefly at his hand and turned toward Mello. "Thank you."

It was the first time he had spoken since the glass had shattered, Mello was surprised to note. Maybe the cut had affected the other boy more than he had thought. "Hmmph," Mello sniffed, standing up from the table again. "Next time, try not to bleed all over my kitchen."

Near nodded quietly. His shirt was still soaked, and he had made no move to relocate from his sticky, glass-strewn side of the table.

"What is _wrong _with you?" Mello snapped, exasperated. "Are you just going to keep sitting there?"

Near didn't meet his gaze. "Perhaps."

"Fine," Mello retorted, and made as if to leave. His resolve lasted right up to the doorway, at which point he turned back around and aimed a glare at Near's unmoving figure. "Get up, will you? I'm going to need to clean, and you'll just be in the way."

Near clambered down from his chair and shuffled out into the hall, brushing past Mello in the doorway. Mello huffed out an irritated sigh and went to return the first aid kit to the bathroom cabinet.

When he emerged, he found Near sitting on the couch in the living room, damp shirt still plastered stickily to his body. Mello stopped at the edge of the room and stood silently, a scowl on his face as he surveyed this rather pitiful sight.

"Is...is there something wrong?" he ground out at last. "Have you decided to stop talking for good? Because that would certainly make my life easier."

Near let out a sound so foreign that Mello couldn't, at first, identify it. It was a sigh. "I'm quite fine," Near murmured, staring fixedly at the floorboards. "I think I will get some rest. Intoxication has proved...underwhelming."

Mello scoffed. "For once, I agree with you," he said, and raised an eyebrow as Near lay back onto the couch. "Are you serious?"

"Pardon?" Near turned a blank gaze onto him.

"Are you really not even going to change your shirt? That's disgusting, you know."

Near stared at him for several strange moments, and then sat back up on the couch. With slow, somewhat shaky hands, he unbuttoned the offending shirt and let it drop to the floor. Mello was suddenly, horribly uncomfortable at the sight of the boy's bare torso. Near was far too thin. His collar bones jutted out from his shoulders in stark relief, and Mello could see the faint tracery of ribs beneath pale skin. What was perhaps most shocking was the scattering of pale hair across Near's chest and stomach; despite the plain fact of Near's age, this evidence of his adulthood was oddly jarring.

Perhaps it was Near's averted gaze, or the slumped posture, but Mello suddenly felt as though his observation of the other boy was somehow obscene, an intrusion into something foreign and forbidden. He dragged his eyes away, down to the floor, gnawing at a corner of his bottom lip in sudden shame.

Near looked up at him and quirked his mouth into something brief and unreadable before turning away, sinking back down to the couch with his pale, narrow back faced outwards.

"I apologize," the younger boy said, voice muffled by the couch. "For breaking your glass."

Mello stared at him, revulsion and confusion mingled on his face. "It's...it's fine," he said, voice uncertain. He stood for a moment longer, watching the silent boy, before turning abruptly to return to the kitchen. To his own surprise, he found himself hitting the light switch on the way out.

* * *

L reappeared an hour later, armed with some elaborate story of unreliable lot locations and unfair deadlines. He took one glance at Near's sleeping figure and the shirt lying crumpled on the ground and turned inquiring eyes to Mello.

"He wanted to drink," Mello said, cursing the defensiveness in his voice. "It didn't turn out well. I expect he won't do it again."

"Yes," L said, biting his thumb. "I expect he won't."

As the older detective shuffled away, Mello was once again struck by the suspicion that L knew a lot more than he let on.

* * *

**ed: so that happened! i seem to have deviated from my skipping-around chapter formula. maybe we'll check in with light and the gang next time ("next time" is not guaranteed to be sooner than three years from now, obviously). i'm very tempted to go back and change some silly continuity/plot issues in previous chapters, so be on the lookout for that, i guess? i'm sorry for everything. if you're still reading, let me know c:**


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